


Social Skills

by spowell Once and Future Series (SPowell)



Series: Once and Future [16]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Returns, M/M, post ep. 5x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 15:57:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPowell/pseuds/spowell%20Once%20and%20Future%20Series
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On outing to look for medieval costumes has Arthur pondering his displacement in this new world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Social Skills

**Author's Note:**

> <3 Thanks to continued support and comments.  
> A couple of errors fixed in previous chapter, which was written very late at night. 6th century. Duh.

“Arthur,” I wish you’d quit that. People are going to think you’re an alcoholic.” Merlin pushes open the door and they enter the cool interior of the costume shop.

Arthur nudges the flask into the pocket of his jeans.

“I assume that’s something undesirable?” he asks, the taste of vodka on his lips.

“Yes. Very,” Merlin answers, smiling at the shop keeper, a very odd-looking young man with unnaturally black hair, eyes that seem inhumanly shadowed, and piercings all over his face.

“Can I help you find something?” the young man asks.

“Sixth century clothing,” Merlin answers, and follows the guy through a doorway into another room.

Arthur’s heartbeat picks up at the familiar array of clothing, particularly the mannequin who looks a bit like Lady Catrina of the house of Tregor.

“We’ll just browse,” he hears Merlin tell the shop keep, who disappears back through the doorway.

“It isn’t a good idea to drink all the time,” Merlin continues their earlier conversation. “I know you want to build up your tolerance, Arthur, but…”

Arthur pins him with a glare. “I will never find myself in such a vulnerable position again,” he says firmly, trying not to recall how it felt to be helplessly on his knees, a firm grip in his hair.

“I get that,” Merlin assures him. “And I don’t want you to. However, you don’t have to constantly drink in order to build up a tolerance. Please stop with the flask.”

Arthur suspects Merlin’s right about this, and he’s getting a little tired of the alcohol anyway.

“All right. For you.”

Merlin smiles his sunny smile and turns to the costumes.

“What would you like to dress as for the party?” he asks Arthur presently.

“Hm?” Arthur still stands regarding the mannequin with a mixture of dislike and wariness.

“A servant, maybe?” Merlin holds up garb that looks amazingly like what he wore as Arthur’s manservant, minus the neckerchief.

“What? No!” Arthur sniffs. “I’ll go as king, of course.” He begins combing through the outfits hanging against the wall.

“How original,” Merlin mumbles.

“None of these are suitable,” Arthur announces after several moments of examination. “I wouldn’t have touched them with my gloved finger, let alone allowed you to dress me in them.” He makes a face.

“They are pretty cheap,” Merlin agrees, stepping away from the rack he’d been perusing.

“Can’t you just come up with something…you know,” Arthur twirls his finger, “with your magic?”

“Shh!” Merlin looks over his shoulder. “Keep your voice down! I suppose I can. But we don’t want to be completely different from everyone else. How will we explain such original costumes?”

Arthur flicks his wrist, tired of the whole topic. Besides, the costume party is still over a month away.

“Say I have a seamstress for an aunt? I don’t care, Merlin, tell them anything you like; but I’m not going to represent my century wearing shite like this.” He turns on his heel and exits the room, not stopping until he’s out of the store and standing on the pavement outside.

Arthur takes a deep breath, squinting into sunlight breaking through the fog. Every day that passes, he gets a little more accustomed to being there—out of his time period, in a strange place with Merlin his only familiar anchor--but it still gets to him, especially when so vividly reminded of his home as he was when looking at those cheap facsimiles of medieval dress.

“Are you all right?” Merlin’s voice cuts into Arthur’s thoughts, and Arthur turns.

“I’m fine,” he replies. “Let’s get lunch.”

Merlin nods, eyes examining Arthur, but doesn’t say anything, just leads the way down the street to a small restaurant. Arthur remains quiet, as is his habit when they’re out, observing how things are done, careful so as not to make any blatant mistakes. Arthur doesn’t like appearing the fool.

He envies the easy way Merlin deals with people, the relaxed manner of his body and the ready smile he has for everyone. Merlin looks at home in this time period, whereas Arthur suspects he himself sticks out like a weed in the royal rose garden.

When they’re seated in the small establishment and have ordered, Arthur’s busy people-watching when a couple approaches the table and greets Merlin, the loud squeal of the female drawing Arthur’s attention.

Merlin immediately rises, looking surprisingly happy.

“Beth, Ashton!” Merlin hugs each in turn. “It’s been ages! What are you doing in London?”

The man, a short, sturdy blond, wraps his arm around the girl and says, “Beth has an internship at…” and, although Arthur tries to follow, he loses the thread of conversation, because there are too many modern words and place names that he doesn’t understand. Frustrated, he waits for Merlin to remember his presence. It takes a bit longer than Arthur expected.

“This is my boyfriend, Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin finally tells them, and Arthur isn’t sure if he’s relieved or annoyed by the fact the couple doesn’t make the historical connection with his name. He also wonders if he and Merlin should use the term fiancé when speaking of the other now.

Arthur has already risen at the sight of the lady and he nods at them, pasting a polite smile on his face much like he used at court when confronted with visiting nobles.

“Would you like to join us?” Arthur is horrified to hear Merlin ask them, and then is even more horrified to see them agree and drag chairs to the table.

The following two hours is hell on earth, as far as Arthur’s concerned. It seems impossible for him to keep up with the thread of conversation, as one: it involves a past that Arthur had nothing to do with; and two: it is liberally sprinkled with unfamiliar terms and phrases that give Arthur a headache trying to figure out.

He keeps the smile pasted on his face and, when the food arrives, occupies himself with eating.

When the two finally leave, Arthur notes that Merlin seems loathe for them go.

Walking home, Merlin is quiet.

“They seemed nice,” Arthur finally says, unable to come up with anything else to note about the experience. The couple did indeed seem pleasant, although a bit vapid, in Arthur’s opinion.

“I didn’t think you liked them,” Merlin replies. “You didn’t say much.”

“I couldn’t think of anything to say,” Arthur answers.

“You could have said _anything._ I know you feel out of place, but complimenting her dress would have been better than sitting in silence.”

“Guinevere had night dresses that covered more skin than that one did,” Arthur replies. “What was I supposed to say?”

Merlin’s head is down, his gaze locked on his feet as he walks. “You could have thought of something. You’re very charming when you want to be.”

“I—I spoke when spoken to,” Arthur defends, a little surprised at Merlin’s annoyed tone.

“In one-word, clipped answers,” Merlin shoots back. “Arthur, those people are my friends. Were my friends. When I lived in Cambridge. You acted like you didn’t even want to know them.”

Arthur stops in his tracks. “Maybe I don’t, Merlin,” he retorts. “What have I in common with those people? I don’t know a thing about them.”

“And you didn’t try to!” Merlin’s eyes flash, not with magic, but with anger, and every muscle in his body seems to tense up. Arthur suddenly wonders how long Merlin’s been harboring this resentment.

“No,” Arthur says quietly, “I didn’t.”

Merlin looks about to make sure no one’s around before he says, “You live here and now, Arthur. You have to get used to it and find a way to…to talk to people! Make friends!”

“I have made friends!” Arthur retorts. “Jake, and Joshua…”

“Those are people you sword fight with. They aren’t really your friends.” Merlin makes a frustrated sound. “Never-mind, Arthur.” He begins walking again, and Arthur hurries to match steps with him, chest tightening with anger.

“No, Merlin. Go ahead…you obviously have a lot to say.”

Merlin shakes his head. “I know you’ve been trying. I know it’s difficult. Fuck, Arthur, I’ve _been_ where you are! Except I was able to adapt little by little as the years passed, and I know that makes all the difference.”

Arthur doesn’t want to think about Merlin alone. Or not alone.

“What you’re saying is, you miss being around other people,” he states flatly.

Merlin’s quiet for a long time. So long that Arthur begins to get annoyed.

“Hello? Did you hear me?”

“I did,” Merlin says quietly. “And yes…I do miss being around other people.”

Arthur grunts. They’ve reached their building, and he pushes open the door. He can hear Merlin following him up the stairs.

“Arthur,” Merlin says when they reach their flat.

Arthur fumbles with the key and curses.

“Arthur.”

Arthur gets the door open and strides in.

“I want you to have friends and a well-rounded life, too,” Merlin says, shutting the door behind them.

Arthur doesn’t say anything. He knows he’s sulking, but he doesn’t care.

Merlin runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m going to go on a few errands and give us a chance to cool off. You want anything while I’m out?”

“No,” Arthur says with a curt shake of his head.

Merlin’s eyes are sad, and Arthur hates that, but he’s angry and doesn’t want to give in to Merlin’s puppy dog look. He turns away.

Hearing the door to the flat shut, Arthur makes a fist-sized hole in the plaster of the wall. When his muscles slowly relax, he flops down on the couch.

Theoretically, Arthur understands where Merlin’s coming from, he really does. But there are many things at war within him—a fear of failing, strong jealousy at having to share Merlin with anyone, a fear of the unknown—what will happen if he allows himself to become this “well-rounded” person Merlin wants him to be? Arthur would much rather marry Merlin, make him his. Lock him away from the rest of the world and those who would like to know him.

With a noise of frustration, Arthur jumps up from the couch and begins to pace.

There is a pile of photo albums…books that keep the imprints of the past in them…at the bottom of the book shelf. Arthur’s never given them anything but the first cursory glance when Merlin tried to explain what a photograph is. He knows they hold things from Merlin’s past, and that there are more put away somewhere.

Now they seem to call to Arthur, daring him to face what they have to tell.

Biting his lip and screwing up his courage, Arthur grabs the first one out of the pile and begins flipping through it.

Of course, Merlin is always the same age in all of them. Arthur supposes that’s why Merlin only keeps a few out in the open. He isn’t too surprised to find pictures that include Ashton and Beth, along with several other strangers. Arthur tenses when he finds a photo of Merlin with a bearded man, the man’s arm wrapped around Merlin’s shoulders. Merlin looks happy. Arthur turns the page.

Another photo shows Merlin and the same man, arms about one another’s waists, laughing amidst a crowd at what appears to be a party.

Arthur wonders who this man is and what happened to him. Carefully, he peels the filmy paper up and flips the photo—there is nothing written on the back.

As though compelled, Arthur turns another page, and then another. When he finds a picture of Merlin and the man kissing, he snaps the book shut and sits fuming.

Trembling with rage, Arthur wants to break something. He wants to shout and yell and…and…throw the man in the photos into the dungeon with the threat of a long and tortured death.

Arthur walks to the wall and gives the hole in it a twin. Fist pounding, he shakes it out.

Incensed and close to the boiling over point, and unwilling to turn his wrath on Merlin when he returns, Arthur goes into the bathroom and runs the water in the shower as cold as possible. Stripping off his clothes, he stands under the spray until goose flesh rises all over his body and he shivers from the cold. Pressing his forehead to the tile, Arthur contemplates what it means to be king when _king_ no longer matters.

Arthur’s read there’s a queen now, and from what he’s been able to glean, what it means to be royalty in this day and age is a far cry from what it once meant. What happened to fealty and loyalty? The king’s protection, chivalry, and the good of the realm?

Squeezing his eyes shut, Arthur fights the tears that threaten.

In the back of his mind, he hears Merlin return home. The snap of cupboards closing, floorboards creaking, shoes falling into the closet.

Frigid water continues to pour down Arthur’s back, but he’s numb now. The urge to fuck Merlin into the floor, asserting dominance and ownership, has passed, and Arthur feels an emptiness he can’t quite explain.

“Arthur?” Merlin’s voice barely rises above the sound of the water.

Arthur doesn’t move from his place against the tile, and when the shower door opens and Merlin steps in behind him, he hears Merlin’s indrawn breath as though from far away.

“Lludd’s balls, Arthur!” Merlin reaches over and turns the knob. Immediately the water gushing across Arthur’s back warms up. Arthur moves his head and blinks, jerking a little when Merlin’s hands grip his shoulders.

“What’s wrong, love?”

Hair plastered to his head, Arthur trembles at the sound of Merlin’s voice in his ear as tears mix with the water cascading down his face. He can feel the contour of Merlin’s body against his own, pectorals pressing to Arthur’s back, abdominals at Arthur’s waist, the jab of a hip bone before the coarse hair of Merlin’s groin brushes against the full globes of Arthur’s arse. Arthur draws in a breath at the unexpected rush of lust jetting through his veins as Merlin presses into Arthur, mouth sucking at Arthur’s neck.

“Merlin…I need you,” he hears himself saying, his next breath staggering from his throat as Merlin thrusts upward in answer.

“Please,” Arthur groans, thinking about the time on the couch when Merlin’s mouth was on him and his fingers…

As though completing the thought, Merlin’s hand slides down Arthur’s slick back and down the crack of his arse. Arthur widens his stance, inviting.

The press of Merlin’s finger causes Arthur to hold his breath for a moment, and then it glides in, opening Arthur up in a way that brings a sob from his lips.

“Shhh…my king,” Merlin sprinkles kisses along Arthur’s shoulders as he holds his finger steady. Arthur closes his eyes, concentrating on the sounds of the water splattering the tiles, breath coming in small pants.

When Merlin begins to move his hand, Arthur groans, long and loud.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Merlin tells him, and Arthur finds he doesn’t mind being called beautiful. He wants Merlin—all of him. He wants to know Merlin wants him in return.

Try as he might, Arthur can’t get the request to pass his lips. He pushes back onto Merlin’s finger, greedily taking more of it in.

Merlin bites at Arthur’s shoulder, a shudder running through his body that Arthur feels in his very bones. “Sire…”

“I need…” Arthur tries again, and Merlin crooks his finger. “I-I need…”

And then Merlin’s finger leaves him, replaced by something bigger, smoother, more demanding.

“Is this what you need, Arthur?” Merlin asks into the curve of Arthur’s ear, and Arthur nods jerkily.

Spreading his legs wider, Arthur tilts his arse, bracing his hands on the shower wall. Merlin makes a needy, keening sound as he slowly pushes in, and the pain and fullness feels so good, Arthur cries out a series of affirmatives that he knows will have him blushing at the memory.

“Easy, m’lord,” Merlin says, hands brushing over Arthur’s belly and ribcage, then up to play with nipples tight with need. When he begins to pump inside Arthur, Arthur’s legs tremble and his groin tightens.

He looks down where his cock bobs, half-hard. Merlin’s thrusting now, arms wrapped about Arthur’s waist, each push taking Arthur to his toes.

Part of Arthur can’t believe he’s being buggered by a man; but Merlin’s the most powerful warlock of all time, and he allows Arthur to fuck him, so…

“Ahh…ah-ha!” Arthur’s balls draw up as Merlin pokes at something deep inside him.

“Arthur…Arthur…feel…feel s’good,” Merlin’s head falls onto Arthur’s shoulder as he continues to plow into him, all thoughts of being gentle obviously having flown from Merlin’s mind in the frenzy of their rut. But Arthur doesn’t care; he wants it hard and even painful, although the pain’s long lost in pleasure so strong, Arthur’s now rock-hard and leaking.

Bringing one hand down to grasp his cock, Arthur’s shoulder hits the wall as Merlin continues to thrust, mumbling incoherently.

Suddenly, Merlin stops, withdrawing.

“Turn around,” he orders, already pulling Arthur by the shoulders, giving Arthur a face full of water, and then Merlin’s pressing him to the wall again, lifting Arthur’s leg and sliding his long cock back into him with impressive agility. Arthur’s back slides upward on the next thrust and he’s able to wrap his legs about Merlin’s waist. Merlin leans in and their mouths connect, tongues dragging over one another as Merlin spears Arthur with shallow jabs right where it feels best.

With a ragged cry into Merlin’s mouth, Arthur releases his seed between them, head falling back. He feels Merlin’s teeth drag across his Adam’s apple, nerves firing with unspeakable pleasure as Merlin speeds up.

“Sire…sire…sire…” Merlin jerks in Arthur’s arms. Arthur swears he feels the hot sperm filling him, and he clenches around Merlin, squeezing it out.

“Fu-uck!” Merlin’s legs give out, and they topple to the floor, water spilling over their heads.

“We’re…going to drown,” Arthur says after a moment, breaths still coming hard. His skin is wrinkling up from prolonged exposure to water, but he feels too good to care.

Suddenly the water turns off and Arthur hears the linen closet door open. Two towels fly into the stall, landing on their heads, and Merlin shifts so that he’s more beside Arthur than on top of him.

They snuggle up a bit in the corner, large, fluffy towels pulled over them, and rest.

Before Arthur knows it, he’s falling asleep, cheek resting on the top of Merlin’s wet head, and when he awakens later, it’s to find them both dry and in their bed, darkness around them.

Arthur spoons into Merlin, drawing him closer, enjoying the feel of Merlin’s bare skin against his own. Merlin’s breathing comes deep and even in sleep, and Arthur is so full of love for him at that moment, he vows to do everything in his power to make Merlin happy.

 

 


End file.
